


maybe, I'm afraid

by thalia_muse_of_comedy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, College Student Sakusa Kiyoomi, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Perceived Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalia_muse_of_comedy/pseuds/thalia_muse_of_comedy
Summary: The next time Atsumu came over, he had asked, “Omi, have you ever been with anyone before?” They had been laying on Kiyoomi’s bed, their faces closer than ever. Atsumu’s hands had been gentle fists beside him, afraid to reach out.“Like dated anyone or like… sexually?”Atsumu’s smile had been soft and blinding, “either. Both.”A little embarrassed, Kiyoomi had shaken his head, “I’ve never been interested.”“Oh.”“Before, I mean. I was never interested before,” he corrected when he saw Atsumu’s smile falter. “I think it’ll be fine. If it’s you.”_________________________When a make-out session ends badly, Atsumu and Kiyoomi have to discover for themselves what "enthusiastic consent" means in their relationship.WARNING: ELEMENTS OF DUB-CON
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	maybe, I'm afraid

**Author's Note:**

> LIKE THE SUMMARY SAYS THIS FIC IS MESSY FOR THEM. 
> 
> This is... very personal to me. Maybe I shouldn't have written it, but it exists. And I needed it to exist. 
> 
> Please only read this if you're in a good place to read about a conversation about consent. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, please leave a kudos or a gentle comment. 
> 
> you can find me on twitter at my sfw twitter, pinchserve12, or my nsfw twitter, pinchofass.
> 
> Thank you Annamiya for reading this over on such short notice <3

Kiyoomi thinks he could get addicted to kissing Miya Atsumu. They are squeezed into Kiyoomi’s bed in his single dorm room, their chests pressed together. Atsumu has a strong leg wrapped around one of Kiyoomi’s to keep from falling off the bed. He keeps his tongue light on Kiyoomi’s lips, only dipping into his mouth to remind Kiyoomi of the electric feeling without giving him a chance to really process it. His hands are cupping Kiyoomi’s face. It was the safest place to put them, a conscious show of how well Atsumu paid attention to everything. 

When Atsumu had temporarily relocated to Tokyo to train with the national team, Atsumu had taken the time to map out Kiyoomi’s boundaries. When they were still just “friends'' (though Kiyoomi often wondered if they had ever been friends before they fell together into this romance), Atsumu had pressed Kiyoomi’s buttons with surgical precision. He always paused for a millisecond, double checking the jab landed the right side of the line. Often, they hit out of bounds, but that was a part of truly getting to know someone.

In contrast, Atsumu always asked permission to get closer, always aware of Kiyoomi’s aversion to sudden skinship. First, he had asked to hold Kiyoomi’s hand during a day trip to walk through a slippery, but well mapped cave system a few hours away. He had even pulled out his own small bottle of hand sanitizer and waved it around. Next, he had asked Kiyoomi for a hug goodbye after he had swung by his campus to drop off hard candy and sour belts as encouragement for the current round of midterms. It wasn’t long before Atsumu’s hand in his hair had become just another part of studying in Kiyoomi’s room on Saturday nights.

Kiyoomi had cracked one day as he sat across from Atsumu as they drank tea in the dorm’s kitchen, saying, “I like you.” 

Atsumu had dropped his tea before Kiyoomi continued, “and I think you like me, too.” He had nodded in affirmative, unusually quiet for the first (but regrettably not the last) time. Together, they had cleaned the kitchen of tea and dirt that only Kiyoomi could feel.

It wasn’t until they had been back in Kiyoomi’s room, their hands millimeters apart as they ached to reach out, that Atsumu had come back online and said, “what, Omi, do you want to date me?” Kiyoomi had placed his hand in Atsumu’s and nodded. 

The next time Atsumu came over, he had asked, “Omi, have you ever been with anyone before?” They had been laying on Kiyoomi’s bed, their faces closer than ever. Atsumu’s hands had been gentle fists beside him, afraid to reach out. 

“Like dated anyone or like… sexually?”

Atsumu’s smile had been soft and blinding, “either. Both.”

A little embarrassed, Kiyoomi had shaken his head, “I’ve never been interested.”

“Oh.”

“Before, I mean. I was never interested before,” he corrected when he saw Atsumu’s smile falter. “I think it’ll be fine. If it’s you.”

Atsumu had uncurled his hands and asked if he could kiss Kiyoomi. As an answer, Kiyoomi had guided Atsumu’s hands to his face. He had held them there as Atsumu pressed their lips together. It had been soft and barely there and over too soon. Happy, Kiyoomi had chuckled, “is that why you brushed your teeth when you got here?” He had been rewarded with Atsumu’s blush and callused fingers pinching his cheeks.

Now, Kiyoomi feels like Atsumu can’t get close enough. He presses a hand to the small of Atsumu’s back, pulling him closer. Like he was hoping, one of Atsumu’s hands leaves Kiyoomi’s face and wraps itself lightly around his side instead. Through Kiyoomi’s own shirt, the touch feels like embers before they catch and burn the whole house down. 

Atsumu bites Kiyoomi’s lip hard. When he removes his teeth and sucks the sensitive skin instead, Kiyoomi involuntarily rocks his body into Atsumu. The contact of their hips makes something bloom inside of him. He stills for a moment, afraid of an oncoming bout of anxiety. He takes stock of the feeling. The blossoming emotion isn’t cold; it’s not slowing his heart like an incoming frost. Rather, it’s warm and liquid. 

Noticing Kiyoomi’s stillness, Atsumu releases his swollen and pulsing lips. The deep kisses are replaced by gentle pecks across Kiyoomi’s face.

The kisses are nice, but he realizes that he wants more from Atsumu. Kiyoomi wonders if the blooming in his chest is desire. As an experiment, he drags the hand on Atsumu’s back down to the hem of his shirt. He slips his fingers under the fabric, and Atsumu shivers. Atsumu’s eyes are wide when he pulls away from Kiyoomi to stare at him. 

The words rush out of Kiyoomi like water from a knocked over glass, “Can I kiss your neck?” He’s pleased when Atsumu’s body shakes under his fingers.

“Y-Yeah, please,” Atsumu replies. His cheeks are flushed, and look so inviting, Kiyoomi can’t help but rest his own face against Atsumu’s for a moment. 

They both pull in deep breaths before Kiyoomi’s lips ghost over Atsumu’s cheekbone. When he moves down to his jaw, Kiyoomi parts his lips enough for the kisses he trails to make pretty, wet noises in their wake. Atsumu’s neck waits for him, invites him in. Kiyoomi presses his nose to Atsumu’s skin and breathes in the subtle, refreshing scent of his cologne. It’s supposed to be inspired by the ocean, but all Kiyoomi’s brain ever picks up on is clean sheets and _Atsumu_. 

As Kiyoomi moves his lips against any available skin he can find, he hears Atsumu hum and sigh. A hand snakes into Kiyoomi’s hair and moves gently through his curls. On occasion, the fingers get tangled and pull the strands taut. It feels so good, Kiyoomi thinks he might slide right out of his own body. 

He grazes his teeth along the column of Atsumu’s neck, but he pulls Kiyoomi off of him slowly by his hair. 

Atsumu makes a pained noise, “not my neck, Omi. I don’t wanna have to cover it up.”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi assures him as he holds in an exhale of disappointment. Another time perhaps.

“Come back up here, I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” but Kiyoomi readjusts so he’s face to face with Atsumu again. His eyes are hazy, but he smiles softly at Kiyoomi. The blooming desire in his chest unfurls more, the vibrant petals revealing their rich color. 

Kiyoomi surges toward Atsumu’s lips with enough force to knock a sigh loose from Atsumu’s chest. He bites, bites, and bites because he’s discovered how hungry he is for the first time in his life. Atsumu takes it all in stride, sucking on Kiyoomi’s top lip. When he runs his tongue along it, Kiyoomi opens his mouth for Atsumu, wider than ever before. 

It’s a different sensation, having Atsumu in his mouth, but Kiyoomi can’t deny how the warmth makes him melt. It’s overwhelming, but Kiyoomi is dizzy with the knowledge they are intertwining endlessly. This is the closeness he’s been chasing since Atsumu wrapped a leg around him. The new angle brings their hips back together, and Kiyoomi moans around Atsumu’s tongue when he feels the pressure of their cocks against each other through their sweatpants. 

Atsumu removes his leg from Kiyoomi’s hip, and he instantly misses the sensation of being held by it. Pulling his mouth off Kiyoomi’s, Atsumu runs his fingers up and down his back. 

He licks his lips and looks conflicted. The air Kiyoomi tries to take in feels like it only gets as far as his throat. His lungs seem to no longer exist.

“What?” Kiyoomi rasps. He wants Atsumu back on him, but, but he seems to be working through something. 

After much too long, Atsumu says, “Can I- I mean we don’t have to but I was wondering- well-”

“What do you want, Atsumu?” he asks quietly, desperately wishing he was capable of sounding kind.

He watches Atsumu swallow and look away. “Can I climb on top of you?”

A beat of silence. “Oh.”

Atsumu retracts his hot palm from Kiyoomi’s back, and he fights the urge to whine at losing nearly all contact with Atsumu. He digs his fingernails into Atsumu’s back.

Atsumu backpedals in a rush, “It’s okay, we don’t have to. I was just wondering.”

Despite his frustration and arousal, Kiyoomi manages to evenly say, “give me a chance to think.”

They watch each other, strategizing for either decision. The ball is in Kiyoomi’s court, and he wonders how long he has before the whistle blows. He pulls his hand out of Atsumu’s shirt. He scoots toward Atsumu and flops down on his back. 

“Omi? You sure?”

Kiyoomi locks eyes with Atsumu and nods. He slides his eyes closed as Atsumu sits up. The bed dips where Atsumu plants his arms, and his strong leg swings over Kiyoomi’s body to straddle his hips. He’s heavy, his presence keeping Kiyoomi pinned to the bed, physically and mentally. It’s reassuring, that he won’t slip away from this moment. 

Atsumu’s hands make light paths up and down Kiyoomi’s sides, a little ticklish. Kiyoomi can’t tell if his blood is rushing toward or away from his head. Fingers dance along his hairline and push his damp curls away from his forehead. 

He opens his eyes to see Atsumu watching him. The low light of the desk lamp paints Atsumu in shades of gold and amber. He glows, and Kiyoomi feverishly wonders if Atsumu is a god about to reveal his divinity, leaving him scorched in his bed. 

Atsumu whispers, “is this okay?”

Kiyoomi lifts up his arms, opening them wide to take Atsumu into his embrace. He melts against him. The air is punched out of Kiyoomi. He thinks he really did lose his lungs tonight. 

After sliding his legs down a little lower across Kiyoomi, Atsumu kisses Kiyoomi just as deep as he did before they had paused. He holds his upper body above Kiyoomi, boxing him in with his arms. Kiyoomi slides his arms lower onto Atsumu’s broad back and presses down. More of Atsumu’s weight drops onto him. His brain keeps repeating Atsumu’s name; he revels in the way they are flushed together. Atsumu’s skin is burning Kiyoomi right out of his own. It’s frightening and wonderful. He wants more of it, wants to go up in flames.

His hands travel even lower. They come to a stop on Atsumu’s lower back; Kiyoomi feels the muscles straining. He slides both hands under the shirt that separates his fingers and Atsumu’s bare skin. His nails dig in, and Atsumu’s hips jerk. More embers fly up from building fires.

It rips a soft moan out of Kiyoomi, “ah-”

Atsumu breaks the kiss to look at Kiyoomi’s face. The unfocused haze is back in his amber eyes. He looks excited and eager, something like happiness dripping from the curve of his mouth. 

Atsumu rocks against Kiyoomi again, rolling slowly and deliberately against Kiyoomi’s tenting sweatpants. The movement makes Kiyoomi draw in a surprised breath. On the exhale, it transforms into a moan as Atsumu cups Kiyoomi’s face. He rubs his thumb across one of Kiyoomi’s sharp cheekbones. It’s pure electricity when Atsumu grinds down on him again. 

He dips back down to feast on Kiyoomi’s lips and continues to roll against Kiyoomi like a rising tide. When Atsumu leaves his lips behind in favor of his neck, Kiyoomi whines. He wants Atsumu’s tongue back in his mouth; he needs Atsumu’s teeth against his lips. 

Atsumu begins to bite and suck along his pulse. Immediately, Kiyoomi’s hands fly to grip Atsumu's bed-mused hair. He nods imperceptibly and presses Atsumu’s face deeper into the crook of his neck as encouragement. In return, Atsumu moans Kiyoomi’s name into his skin. His breath burns the way Kiyoomi imagines fresh tattoos must burn.

The tide of Atsumu’s rolling hips drag Kiyoomi under. He drops his hands from Atsumu’s hair, and his breathing all but stops. The pleasure from where their cocks are rubbing against each other intensifies slowly, creeping toward unbearable and all-consuming.

He doesn’t move, even as Atsumu starts babbling about nothing against his racing heartbeat. The only things that exist are Atsumu’s cooing and the friction. He hears Atsumu mumble indecipherable sentences that all end in “baby.” 

Kiyoomi feels adored, worshipped even. The idea of Atsumu praying to Kiyoomi’s pulse is what sinks him into his orgasm. His body tenses as his release dirties his sweats and he fists his hands into the dark sheets of his bed. It’s like nothing Kiyoomi has ever felt before. The pleasure fills him up to the brim. It needs somewhere to go because Kiyoomi can’t hold it all inside of him. 

“Atsumu,” he whispers, his own offering. He’s not sure if he hears him say it though. 

The tension in Kiyoomi’s body leaves just as quickly as it came. His head is spinning. The roll of Atsumu’s hips is making him want to squirm, but he keeps still, wondering if Atsumu will climax, too. Kiyoomi closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. 

When he clocks Kiyoomi’s stillness, Atsumu stops, too. He sits all the way up. Atsumu matches Kiyoomi’s stillness, then eclipses it. 

Kiyoomi begins to wonder if Atsumu is even breathing. He didn’t feel Atsumu come, but Kiyoomi didn’t know enough about orgasms to be able to tell on his own. 

He cracks an eye open and mumbles, “Atsumu?” His name holds every question and hopefully every answer. Kiyoomi’s heart bleeds where it beats in his chest.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, this time worried. 

Above him, Atsumu is sheet white, even his lips look unbelievable pale. His eyebrows are scrunched like he’s in pain. Kiyoomi was right, Atsumu doesn’t seem to be breathing. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Atsumu flinches at the question and rolls off of Kiyoomi. He sits at the edge of the bed with his back to him, and his shoulders begin to shake. 

“Atsumu, are you crying?”

Kiyoomi sits up, finally, and tries to turn Atsumu toward him, but he’s stuck still. Kiyoomi’s not sure if he should try to touch him again. He’s panicking a little, himself.

“Wanna lay back down with me, Atsumu?”

He watches Atsumu fist his hands until his knuckles are white.

Pushing a little and scared, he says, “you don’t have to face me. I can… I can hold you. Would that be okay?”

Atsumu’s shoulders are trembling like they’re caught in the world’s longest earthquake, but he nods. 

Kiyoomi lays down on his side and curls his fingers into the back of Atsumu’s t-shirt. After a few tugs, Atsumu mechanically curls up on his side, his legs swinging back onto the bed. He doesn’t try to shift further back into Kiyoomi’s waiting embrace.

“I’m going to wrap my arms around you now, okay?”

That makes a sob claw out of Atsumu’s throat. It sounds so painful, Kiyoomi’s own eyes begin to prickle. He feels scraped raw and confused. His body is content and tired, but his soul is aching seeing Atsumu come apart like this. Slowly, he encircles Atsumu and pulls his back to his chest. Atsumu continues to shake. Kiyoomi’s heart stutters every time a wretched whine passes through Atsumu’s lips. 

Eventually the sobbing stops. Atsumu begins to take in deep, gasping breaths. He sniffles and continues to shake in Kiyoomi’s arms. 

Kiyoomi can’t stand it anymore, “Atsumu, tell me what’s wrong.”

Atsumu tenses and shakes his head over and over. HIs palms come up to his eyes and dig into them. Kiyoomi squeezes him tighter, closer.

He doesn’t know what else to do. “Was it something I did?” he asks Atsumu.

A single sob rips through Atsumu's body as he shakes his head again. 

Atsumu’s voice is so shredded it cracks in several places, “no, Omi, no. I’m- I’m so fucking sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

Another tremor forces Atsumu to stop.

Kiyoomi’s nearly dizzy from worry when he says, “I don’t understand, Atsumu. You shouldn’t have what?”

The question is met with a smothering silence.

Unsure, Kiyoomi starts thinking it through out loud, “Were you uncomfortable on top of me? Did I pull your hair too hard? Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

“I- I didn’t-” Atsumu stops as he shakes again “-I didn’t ask, Omi.”

“You did ask! You asked if you could get on top of me!” The words come out too sharp, but Kiyoomi’s afraid of what Atsumu is trying to tell him. 

Atsumu tries to tug himself out of Kiyoomi’s arms, but he doesn’t let him run away.

“I didn’t ask if I could get you off!”

“Oh…” the word leaks out of Kiyoomi’s mouth. Atsumu starts repeating his apology over and over. 

Atsumu, who always asks slowly, clearly every time he stretches Kiyoomi’s boundaries. Atsumu, who always hesitates and double checks and smiles for Kiyoomi no matter what the answer is. _His_ Atsumu thinks… that he…

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Kiyoomi tells him. He slides his body a little lower on the mattress to press his forehead between Atsumu’s jumpy shoulder blades. He can feel Atsumu shaking off his words. It makes Kiyoomi want to squeeze Atsumu until they break reality and melt into each other. Would he be able to make Atsumu understand, if that were possible?

“You stopped… reacting,” Atsumu explains, more in control of his voice but still sounding so far away. “I should have stopped. I just… I could only think about making you feel good.”

Kiyoomi’s stomach drops. He sits up and grabs Atsumu’s shoulders, no longer thinking about being gentle with his hurting lover. 

“Atsumu, look at me.” He shakes Atsumu when he does remove his hands from his eyes. When even that doesn’t get a reaction, Kiyoomi pries away Atsumu’s hands and holds them in between their bodies.

“Baby, look at me,” he begs. The rare pet name is what brings Atsumu back to life. His eyes land on Kiyoomi: red, white, black, and gold. 

“You made me feel good. You made me feel _so_ good, Atsumu. That’s what you wanted, right? You were thinking about me? You wanted to take care of me.” The final statement isn’t a question. He knows Atsumu. 

His words are not the salvation he expects them to be when Atsumu repeats, “You stopped reacting. Omi, you just shut down. You stopped touching me, soI thought… I thought…” He can’t finish his sentence.

“But that doesn’t mean-” but Kiyoomi stops himself. 

While it is certainly true that Atsumu always asks with his words and a smile, the same could not be the same of Kiyoomi. He had become accustomed to Atsumu reading every touch of encouragement: lacing their fingers together; guiding Atsumu’s hands to his face; lying down, offering his body. When had Kiyoomi ever answered Atsumu’s questions of consent with his words? 

He had trained Atsumu to read him, and it had failed them. What a mess he’d made of them, of their night. Kiyoomi bows his head over the hands he’s holding.

“Omi?” Atsumu asks, paper thin.

“Atsumu, I’m sorry.”

Atsumu’s next words get lodged in his throat and come out a sad, strangled noise. He takes a deep breath and says, “no, what? Omi, it’s me. I should know you by now.”

Kiyoomi lifts his head enough to meet Atsumu’s eyes. “And I should know you. I do know you. You’re the most attentive person I know. You care so much. You could never… You would never do what you think you did, Atsumu.”

Fresh tears begin to rewet the tracks on Atsumu’s face. “You mean it, Omi?”

“I never say things I don’t mean. And I always tell you when I don’t want something, right?” He knows he does that, at the very least. But, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu also needs more from him. He brings one of Atsumu’s tear-damp palms to lips and kisses his heartline, his lifeline.

“You did nothing wrong, Atsumu. You wanted to love me, and I wanted to love you.”

“I did. I do. Love you. If that’s alright,” Atsumu confesses. His eyes sparkle and the weary corners of his mouth jump like they want to smile. 

Kiyoomi feels himself flush. He’s hit with the same urge to crawl into Atsumu’s body and never crawl back out. He wants to feel covered and shelter. He wants. He loves. He kisses Atsumu’s other hand, the lifeline, the heartline. 

“I love you, too Atsumu.”

The words color the air the same golden as Atsumu’s skin in the low light. They are treasures that will adorn Atsumu’s brow, a crown, a diadem, a weight Kiyoomi hopes he will never forget. 

They lace their fingers together and flop down on the bed side by side to drink in the sight of each other. Atsumu still looks fragile and maybe he will be for a while yet, but Kiyoomi is determined to do his best from now on. 

“Talking is hard,” he admits. Atsumu sighs and closes his eyes. Kiyoomi continues, “but you’re worth it. I don’t want you to ever feel like this again.”

“It’ll be okay Omi. We’ll get really good at sex. When we’re ready.”

Kiyoomi almost nods but he stops himself.

“Yes, when we’re ready.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Really, thank you for reading.


End file.
